


Two Sides of the Same Coin

by koalaboy



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Trans Character, bruce is jewish, bruce is trans, good boys are good and wholesome, harvey is reformed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: A collection of works wherein Harvey Dent (formally Two Face) is reformed and on his way to good mental health and he reignites his former flame with Bruce Wayne.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a universe where Harvey is reformed and Bruce and him are somewhat public about their relationship. Later in the comic universe. The batfam are there.

In the Wayne household, Alfred is the first to rise; an early bird by nature, he doesn't have to worry about making too much noise as he makes breakfast for Masters Dick, Damien and Timothy because of how far the bedrooms are from the kitchen. Bruce was always the last to rise and didn't maintain a healthy eating schedule anyway despite Alfred's insistence. Harvey opens his eyes and smiles sleepily at Bruce beside him. He was sound asleep and a little more bruised than when he left to patrol, but at least he wasn't having any nightmares.

Harvey presses a soft kiss to his cheek, murmuring against his skin, "Good morning, sleepy head."

Bruce groans in response and stops snoring for a minimum of twenty seconds before resuming. Harvey breathes in his scent, runs his fingers over the pulse-point on Bruce's wrist, and reminds himself that he's safely home in their bed. Harvey chuckles as Bruce smiles in his sleep, tucks him back in, and leaves him be. He yawns, opening his mouth only as far as the skin grafts would let him. The cold tiles on his bare feet make him wince as he enters the master bathroom. He rubs the sleep from his good eye and uses his fingernail to scrape away the gunk that collected under his bad eye.

He slides the mirror to the side to reveal the highly stocked medicine cabinet that he and Bruce shared. Amongst Bruce's anti-depressants, their shared painkillers, and Harvey's array of medication for both his mental and physical health, they could probably give the Arkham pharmacy a run for it's money. He takes what he has to: a couple of pain killers, a sedative to keep his emotions from accelerating out of control, anti-rejection drugs for his multiple skin graphs (some of the skin was his, some was cadaver skin. He didn't like to think about it), and a cocktail of other anti-whatevers that kept him sane. Poor Alfred made a trip to the pharmacy to pick up prescriptions so often that they knew him by name. He rubs a combination of topical and vitamin cream on to his face, wincing as it hits a few of the areas where exposed nerves still lingered unhealed. The eyedrops he puts in his bad eye to stop it drying out make both of his eyes water and he pats away the tears with a tissue. His face was a strange mixture of over-sensitive, dull, and numb. Bruce had to be very careful where he kissed.

He pulls one of Bruce's ugly Hanukkah sweaters over his head and changes his boxer-briefs before he walks down the hallway to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Master Dent," Alfred calls before he even enters. How did he always do that? Weren't people supposed to lose their hearing with age? Harvey had already lost 80% in one ear before the age of 35.

"Morning, Al," he chimes and snatches a pancake before the older man can object.

"You are lucky I do not fancy myself a man of fisticuffs anymore, Master Dent."

Harvey laughs. His smile grows wide enough to expose some of his back molars. Tim enters, dressed ready for school. Harvey ruffles his hair affectionately and Tim sighs, rolling his eyes.

"I _just_ did my hair, Harv."

"Really?" Dick smirks, sauntering his way in and attempting to steal a pancake; Alfred is prepared this time and swats his hand away, "Because it didn't look like it."

Alfred shares the pancakes out between the three of them. He gives Harvey one less out of pettiness. Harvey uses a knife and fork to cut his in to small pieces that he could fit in to his mouth without opening of his jaw too much because it caused him pain. The boys scoff theirs down, a long night of patrolling and study made them in to little hunger demons. Alfred was used to it by now, although it pained him to think of all the expensive silver cutlery that barely got used.

"Where's Dad?" Dick asks, "Usually the smell of breakfast brings him out of his room."

Harvey pats Dick on the back as he walks past and picks up the boy's dishes. He puts them in the sink and starts to scrub. Alfred did far too much for his age and Harvey could imagine he needed every minute he had to work on new bat-tech. That, and the cold water was good for his hand.

"He's had a run of nightmares lately. I'm letting him sleep."

Alfred brings Tim his lunch for school and Harvey watches with pride as both he and Dick leave. Damian was having the day off from school because he spent the night with Bruce and from the looks of Bruce, the poor boy had taken some punches as well. The boys all preferred to walk to school even though Harvey or Alfred were happy to drive them. Harvey knew exactly why; it was the unsupervised 'training', parkour, really, that they could get up to without adults yelling at them to be careful.

"Will you be returning to Master Bruce?" Alfred asks, placing a hand on Dent's good shoulder.

"Yeah. He'll go mad at me for staying in bed so long because it makes my swelling so bad."

"Nothing compression clothing can't fix. And I assume Master Bruce enjoys your company." That was Alfred's way of approving time spent in bed with Bruce.

The good half of Harvey's mouth curls up in to a loving smile, "Yeah. He does."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Chapter 1

Bruce groans, as he so often did when Harvey wrapped his arms around him in bed from behind, disturbing his few precious hours of sleep.

"What're you doin'?" He mumbles against his pillow, which muffles his words.

"Cuddling my boyfriend whom I miss very dearly every night," Harvey answers, pressing the good half of his face in to Bruce's neck. He smelled like leather from the inside of the cowl and expensive aftershave. Bruce tangles his fingers with Harvey's and brings his hand to his lips for a kiss. Harvey blushes on the side of his face that could still blush.

"Damian is in bed and Dick took Tim to school and before you ask I made sure he remembered his homework and, yes, I did check it," Harvey says.

"What would I do without you and Al?" he breathes.

Harvey can feel Bruce tracing his thumb over the scarred skin of his hand and he closes his eyes with a gentle sigh. A few more kisses follow where his thumb had traced, and a smile grows on his face.

"Watch yourself, caped crusader, I'm a little sore and swollen this morning."

Bruce makes a soft noise as he rolls over to face his boyfriend. He kisses him sweetly, his lips favoring the better side of Harvey's face simply because that was where he had the most sensation.

"Before you start worrying, I do plan on wearing the compression sleeve to therapy."

Bruce grunts in acknowledgement and holds the other close as he drifts back off to sleep. Harvey watches him with adoration in his eyes.

The scarred tissue on one-half of his body had constricted some blood vessels and made it difficult for blood to circulate. Some days were worse than others and whether Harvey remembered to do his physical therapy affected the swelling. Most times he wore a compression sleeve when it was necessary. Harvey had two therapists (yes, he was aware of the irony). The first was a psychiatrist that specialized in the management of multiple mental disorders and ensured the medication was contributing to his overall health. The second was a top psychologist who helped with the violent intrusive thoughts, the guilt of his past actions as Two-Face, and the acceptance of his new appearance, among other things. It was good for him, it kept Bruce from worrying, and it kept Alfred from lecturing.

Harvey runs his fingers along Bruce's rib cage. He can feel the bumps of old scars, and he traces a select few with his thumb. He admires Bruce's chest; the top surgery scars were hidden just under his pectoral muscles and his nipples were almost perfect. He looked far more normal than Harvey did. Hence why Harvey chose to sleep in long-sleeve cotton tops and pants as opposed to Bruce's simple boxer shorts.

A coy smile crosses Bruce's lips and he presses sleepy kisses to the top of Harvey's head, pulling the man closer to him even still. He buries himself in the other's hair, halfway between the patchy side and the thick brown one.

"You're awfully cuddly this morning. Everything okay?"

Bruce nods, far too tired to open his eyes, "Not a lot of crime last night. Made me wish I was here in bed... with you."

"Maybe you should take a few nights off. We could have a family dinner, watch TV with the boys, beat them at monopoly, I don't know."

Guilt forces Bruce's eyes open, "Harv, you know I can't-"

Harvey sighs, "I know, but a girl can dream. By law you have to take Yom Kippur off and I won't let you out of it."

"Harv-"

"Please," he whines, "I'll make it worth your while..."

A knowing smirk comes across Bruce's face and he raises his eyebrows, "Okay, love."

Harvey beams, his grin so wide it makes his cheek ache. Bruce chuckles, cupping both of his cheeks with his hands, "Okay, okay, stop that puppy-dog smile before you hurt yourself."

Bruce sighs and stretches as he attempts to get out of bed, slowly sitting up and yawning. Everything ached. He always ached.

"You need to shower. It'll help," Harvey suggests, brushing some lint off Bruce's broad shoulder.

"Yeah, in a minute. I just wanna run something by you, actually, babe."

Harvey's heart flutters at the pet name, "What is it?"

"I was sitting on a rooftop last night and thinking-"

" _Brooding_."

"- ** _thinking_**. And I came to the realization that there's a huge lack of programs for people like you. Situations change, environments and circumstances change, people get better, but their criminal record makes it impossible to find work or gain an education. No income because of this leads back to a life of crime. It's something everybody knows, but no one is doing anything to change it."

Harvey nods. He had seen it all before in his own courtroom, had experienced it firsthand himself, too.

"So, what's your plan?"

"A program: give ex-cons trial opportunities at school, work, and training programs. If they do well and start to change themselves, the police record would be irrelevant. And I mean that, Harv. It's a second chance. A fresh start."

Harvey picks his nails anxiously, "I think that's a great idea, Bruce, but... I don't know if I'm cut out to be a lawyer again. It's so aggressive and occasionally manipulative... it's like being my old self all over again. I've come so far, I can't lose it all now."

Bruce shakes his head, "You wouldn't. I know you would never relapse fully."

Harvey edges closer, "I don't know if I believe you, Bruce."

He presses their foreheads together, suddenly overcome by a great sadness.

"No, Harv. You'd be helping people. That's something you really miss, I can see it."

Harvey shrugs, slipping out of Bruce's arms and giving him a sad smile, "...Maybe."

He shifts to his side of the bed and reaches for the tub of aloe cream on the nightstand. He begins to rub some on his arm, the cold cream easing the swelling and discomfort. Bruce looks at the clock that hung in their bedroom and sighs: 10a.m., he should be getting up. He pulls himself out of bed, steadying himself and stretching his back with a grunt of pain. He casts a glance at Harvey and goes in to the master bathroom to start his morning routine: pills, shower, shave, wound care. Sometimes Harvey would shower with him and it would make getting out of bed a whole lot easier.

"I need to go to the bank before therapy," Harvey calls, "Please spend less time touching yourself so I can do my makeup."

Bruce laughs; perhaps he did milk his time under the hot water for all it was worth.

" _Asshole_ ," he calls back. He pushes his water-proof earbuds in and turns on his music playlist with a wave of his hand; acoustic covers of songs he was sure Damian loved, but that he wasn't familiar with. Still, they were easy listening and it paid to keep up to date with what his kids liked. He hums along to some familiar tunes that he'd heard being played in the batcave as he washes away the sweat and grime of last night's patrol and his aching muscles warm up. Bruce opens his eyes with a fright as he sees Harvey, leaning up against the doorframe and enjoying the view.

He takes out one of his ear pods, "Yes?"

"Oh, nothing. I've just been talking to myself for the _past ten minutes_ assuming you were being a _decent boyfriend_ and _listening_ ," he says, waving his hand dismissively.

Bruce chuckles, "In my defense, I hardly listen to you anyway."

Harvey mocks offence. Wiping the steam from the mirror, he begins to apply the green base coat on his face; it cancelled out the redness of the scar tissue. Plastic surgery could only fix so much and there were some places he would rather they didn't touch should it end up worse than before. Bruce gets out of the shower and neglects wrapping a towel around himself solely because he was in the company of Harvey.

"Oh, you tease," Harvey mutters.

He applies concealer, foundation, and some contour until his face resembles something somewhat normal. To complete his complex routine, he washes his hands thoroughly and opens a small box that held his sclera contact. It exactly matched his other eye colour and covered up the yellow and burst blood vessels in his bad eye. It also corrected his slight vision distortion. He pushes his in-ear hearing aid in to what remained of his ear and sighs with relief as his hearing evens out. Bruce had custom designed both of them for him when he'd shown improvements in Arkham.

"You don't have to do all that, babe," Bruce says, absently fixing his damp hair in the mirror.

"I don't want people to see Two-Face when they look at me. I hurt a lot of people in the past, I don't want to hurt them again by seeing me like that."

Bruce kisses his boyfriend's cheek and shoos him out of the bathroom, "Go and get dressed. No use standing here and admiring my handsomeness forever."

Harvey laughs as he playfully resists Bruce's hands on his shoulders which urged him toward their walk-in wardrobe. He gives in and, with a content sigh, chooses a button-up shirt and trousers.

He dresses himself and strolls in to the main entryway to wait for Bruce. He admires the huge portrait of the Wayne family that hung on the wall there. He hoped the Wayne's approved of their son's choice in men.

"Sorry to disappoint you..." he murmurs up at the painting, his words disappearing in to the air just as Bruce comes to meet him.

"Ready?" he asks.

Harvey forces a smile - he always dreaded going out on to the streets of Gotham.

"The fact that you have a rack of car keys doesn't tell you that you're eccentric, babe?" he asks instead, changing the subject.

Bruce picks the keys to car number 3 - a bright red Porsche - just to spite Harvey for his comment and Harvey groans loudly, making sure Bruce was watching him before he chooses to roll his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A therapy trip for Harvey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are Harvey's intrusive thoughts (his other self is almost completely gone, although he is still officially diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder etc). They get more prominent when he's anxious which is why they only appear in this chapter and not the previous two since he's outside and full of Anxiety.

Harvey keeps his eyes low as he and Bruce walk through the streets of Gotham. First, people stared because of Bruce Wayne, then they saw that Harvey's face wasn't quite normal, and finally, they remember the headline: 'Gotham Play Boy and Ex-Two Face Hit It Off'. To the people of Gotham there was no Harvey Dent anymore, only Two-Face. Bruce squeezes his hand to comfort him. Harvey rolls his eyes. Of _course_ Bruce was wearing those obnoxious sunglasses that made him look like the billionaire asshole he pretended to be.

The National Bank of Gotham is relatively quiet for a weekday. It smells like perfume and old coins. One of the air conditioner fans is loose and rattles quietly. The few elderly people who were being served at the desk talk in hushed tones and glance wearily at the new couple.

Harvey fumbles around in his jacket pocket for his wallet and bankbook as they wait in line, his eyes find the security guard who tenses and rests his hand on the panic button, expecting a gun. _He's young. Nervous. It would take one punch to knock him out, take his weapon, take the money._

Bruce looks as if he hasn't ever stepped foot in to a bank and Harvey concludes that he probably _hasn't_. 

"Babe, not everyone who comes in to a bank is going to rob the place. Would you please relax? You're putting me on edge," Harvey mutters, not looking up from his wallet as he locates the right card.

Bruce unfolds his arms from across his chest and stuffs his hands in to his pockets instead, but his eyes still scan the room for potential criminal activity. He was uneasy for a good reason - a lot of rogues didn't like the new Harvey. He feels Bruce nudge him gently with his elbow and takes it as his cue to move.

He transfers some money from their joint account to his card so he could pay for therapy. The girl behind the desk stares at him, downright gawks, if he was being honest. _I'll give you something to stare at, you fucking slut_. He smiles and gives her a polite nod. _Smash your head in to the window glass_. He takes Bruce's hand again.  _Smash his head in to the window glass._ "Well, that was less painful than I expected."

"Having a joint account probably makes it bearable," Bruce teases. He slips his arm around Harvey's waist as they exit and grins down at him. He certainly made travelling outside of Wayne Manor bearable.  _Push him in to oncoming traffic._

The walk to his psychologist's private office is short, which he's thankful for - his bad leg is absolutely killing him by the time they arrive; swollen and sore. Sure, they could drive, but exercise was supposed to be good for mental health. Nobody dares to bother them, but he can feel eyes on him that burn in to his soul, hat look at him and think 'guilty', think 'murderer', think 'he killed someone I knew'. Harvey does his best to act unaffected.

"Just pretend they're staring at me because I'm so damn handsome," Bruce whispers in to his good ear. Bruce always knew how to stop the other's intensity from building. 

Harvey breaks into a soft chuckle, "Well, they should.  **I do**."

Bruce stops in his tracks as if he had to muster all of his physical strength to stop the blush that crept on to his cheeks without consent. Harvey chews on the inside of his cheek to keep the self-satisfied smirk off his face because he knew it would only make him look more disfigured. 

Bruce holds the door open for him when they reach his psychologist's office. The receptionist knows him well by now and so they take a seat in the waiting room. The familiar expensive abstract painting of cacti that hung across the room and greeted him every week doesn't fail to do so again. Harvey leans close to Bruce and rests his cheek against his shoulder. 

"Being out in the world is exhausting," he mutters.

"I can only imagine." Bruce turns his head to kiss the top of Harvey's, "Your hair smells nice, babe."

"It's the conditioner. I dyed it." Ever since the incident, half of Harvey's hair grew a natural white. He preferred to dye it back to his original colour so the asymmetry wasn't so noticeable.

Bruce hums along to the quiet music that plays, absently tracing meaningless shapes on to the palm of Harvey's hand.

"Harv?" The voice of his psychologist snaps him out of the calm trance that Bruce's touch had put him in.

"Good luck," Bruce says as Harvey stands.

Harv leans down and pecks his lips before he enters the therapy office. Bruce fills the hour by calling Alfred, checking police activity on his phone, and playing candy crush (a game he wished Damian hadn't introduced him to). He makes small talk with the receptionist and gushes about the progress Harvey has made to her. He looks up when the door to the office opens and smiles sadly at an exhausted, tearful Harvey. He pulls him close. Harvey's eyelashes are still damp and he sniffles with his face buried in Bruce's chest. It was rare that he left therapy without being completely emotionally drained. It did him good, though, to let all of his repressed thoughts and feelings out.

"We worked hard today. He did very well," his psychologist says, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. She had been checked, cross-referenced, and stalked by Batman before Harvey was allowed to see her. She was one of the few uncorrupt doctors the city had left and she charged for it. Not that it ever affected them.

Harvey doesn't move far from Bruce's side as he pays for the visit. He signs a digital tablet to say he attended his appointment and the declaration gets sent to Arkham. If he were to miss an appointment for an unexplained reason, someone would come to check up on him. Bruce had implemented that system himself and so far it was proving effective. Arkham was no longer a place to house the most dangerous criminals. Well, it was, technically. But the main goal was to reintegrate them in to modern society through therapy and interpersonal skills while they served out their sentence. They had seen improvements, Edward Nygma and Harvey being just two of them. Harley was definitely on her way. 

"Do you want to go home?" Bruce asks.

Harvey rubs his eyes and lets out a sigh; he swings their arms as they walk, "We have to pick up Dame's new jazz shoes first. He outgrows them faster than he can wear them out. They're just at his dance studio. Which reminds me, his end of year concert is coming up."

"I know, Dick has already made shirts with his face on it that say 'Bring the Pain, Wayne'. He's worse than those child beauty pageant mothers, I swear," Bruce grumbles, quite literally face-palming with embarrassment, as his boys would say.

Harvey chuckles. The way in which those boys, who sometimes almost broke each other's bones, came together to support each other always made him adore how tirelessly Bruce and Alfred worked with them to form a family. It was a family Harvey hoped to one day be a part of. Little did he know he was already considered just that.


End file.
